


Trust Fall

by undertheinktree



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gabriel is a jerk, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, falling aziraphale, is this just me projecting my doubts about the catholic church?, lots of talks about what is right and what is wrong, post-armageddidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertheinktree/pseuds/undertheinktree
Summary: "In the midst of that storm he suddenly found Crowley's hand softly pressing his arm. Gentle, patient, familiar. He used that touch to anchor himself to the ground, focusing on what he knew for certain was true and what he realized he needed to say in that moment, if things were actually going to change."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

When asked what the best spot in London to have a picnic is, many people will suggest the top of the hill in Greenwich park, which is described on the Royal Museums website as offering “the very best natural view of the city”.

These people are wrong.

This opinion is in fact so common that the top of the hill is constantly crammed with tourists specifically in search of the best spot in London to have a picnic, making it impossible for anybody to actually enjoy the time spent there.

When you are an angel, however, you often have the miraculous luck of finding the place almost entirely deserted. If a demon is with you, you may wonder for a moment what happened to the people who were supposed to be there. But then again, the view really is beautiful from up there, so you wonder just for a second and then forget about it.

Bathed in the afternoon sun, Aziraphale took another sip from his glass of red wine and let his gaze wander over the skyline: the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, Canary Wharf, the unmistakable Gherkin.

He loved London. In 6000 years he had seen a great deal of Earth (not all of it, though, and that still amazed him): endless blue seas, welcoming small villages in the middle of the desert, mountains so high he thought a jump was enough to get back to Heaven. None of them, however, had ever felt like home, apart from London. He had seen that city rise, grow, prosper, burn, change again and again and again but somehow always staying the same even after centuries.

His lips curled slightly into a smile as he looked down at Crowley, the one constant among the infinite crowds that had walked those streets through the centuries.

The demon was lying on the grass with his head in Aziraphale's lap, his eyes closed and his arms crossed. Aziraphale focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Even after six thousand years every now and then he found himself enthralled by the human bodies they were inhabiting: so limited, so simple and yet so incredibly complicated. How many muscles were working just to make him breathe?

He ran his fingers through Crowley's dark red hair as gently as he could, trying not to wake him.

It had been ten months since Adam had averted the Apocalypse and they had successfully tricked Heaven and Hell and cut ties with them, completely diving into life on Earth without putting much thought into what was Right and what was Wrong.

Ten months generally mean nothing for immortal beings. However, Aziraphale felt as if that short period of time had been the most important of his existence, as if the millennia that had preceded it had been just a dream. Maybe being that close to losing everything he cared about had put the whole immortality thing under a new perspective and made him realize that taking things for granted was extremely dangerous. Maybe he had just started to really understand humans. Or maybe it was because of Crowley and the new, odd, bond they shared.

It had happened spontaneously, as if per the laws of physics: as soon as they had escaped the force field of Heaven and Hell, they had simply gravitated towards each other and comfortably settled into each other's orbit. It had happened with slow, hesitant steps: finally discarding the whole “hereditary enemies” rhetoric, spending time together just for the sake of it, finding comfort in holding the other's hand or leaning on his shoulder, being able to open up about anything was going through their minds at any given moment.

That is, almost everything.

They had never actually talked about the gradual but impossible to ignore shift in their dynamics. There was no need, Aziraphale kept telling himself. It was ineffable.

Angels really appreciate the word “ineffable” because it shields them from the reality of whatever is in front of them, which is very convenient when you need to keep blind Faith in a system you don't really trust. Aziraphale in particular wallowed in the idea that it was impossible putting into words those feelings he had finally learnt to accept. This allowed him not to face the hundreds of ways openly discussing the subject could go wrong.

A waft of fresh air distracted Aziraphale from his introspection, caressing his face flushed by the summer heat.

A moment later Crowley’s hand was on his shoulder, closed in a firm grip.

The demon bolted upright and snapped his head left and right, eyes wide open and burning yellow.

Danger.

“What? What is it?” Aziraphale looked around for what could have triggered his senses.

Crowley’s gaze kept shifting from side to side, then it settled on the angel’s alarmed expression and softened.

“It’s just you. Of course.”

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a dry chuckle.

“What's wrong, dear?”

Crowley groaned, “That's what it felt like. I remembered.” He rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his arms. He was silent for a while, to the point that Aziraphale wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep again.

“Heaven,” he finally added.

“Oh.”

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? In doubt, Aziraphale simply didn't inquire further.

Silence had never been a problem for them, they could spend hours without talking and still get to enjoy each other's company. In that moment, however, the silence felt thick and tense. Distress began to grow in Aziraphale's chest. He was about to nonchalantly comment on the butterfly that had just landed on the handle of the wicker basket when Crowley spoke again.

“Angel. Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss it? You mean Heaven?”

“Mh.”

“Oh my, no. Do you think I miss being bossed around by Gabriel? Or being able to physically feel Michael's enormous ego? Sure, I definitely yearn for that.” Aziraphale himself was surprised by the amount of scorn and sarcasm in his own voice. Not receiving the amused reaction he expected from Crowley, he sighed.

“I mean, you know what it's like, don't you? It's boring. Cold, aseptic, empty. Order, strict rules and nothing else.”

“But that's what it's like _now._ It wasn't like that once!” Crowley barked, “In the beginning. It was different, right? It felt good. You were there and you just felt... _right._ Of course, _wrong_ didn't exist yet. You just felt right and peaceful and...” he gestured as if words were dry leaves he was trying to catch with his bare hands “You just felt like you belonged and you were protected and...like...”

“Loved?” Aziraphale suggested, with a wisp of voice.

Crowley clenched his jaw “That.” He grabbed his sunglasses he had abandoned on the grass and put them on. “That's what it's supposed to feel like.”

“My friend, I believe I haven't felt like that about Heaven in a very, very long time.” Aziraphale admitted, trying to ignore the sting of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

“See, it changed! Heaven shouldn't change, right? That's _their_ fault if they push people away, isn't it?”

“I guess, but-”

Crowley sprung to his feet “Fuck it, who am I kidding? I shouldn't be here. I'm selfish, okay? I wanted it to end on a good note, but of course that's just making everything worse and-”

“Crowley, could you for once please slow down and tell me what is troubling you?”

One of the things Aziraphale had always found charming about the human body was the way it unintentionally reacted to whatever he was feeling in any given moment: he had learnt to expect a rush of heat to his cheeks whenever something was annoying him, and he had often realized he loved something based on the fluttery sensation in his stomach even before he was able to rationally conceive it.

Fear, he had learnt, brought along sweaty palms, shortness of breath and a feeling of tightness in his throat that made his voice sound hoarse.

He knew Crowley was staring at him from behind his sunglasses, chasing in his mind a trail of thoughts he alone was able to follow, jumping from one question to the next in a way that made sense only to him and his fascinating, unique mind.

Why that scared him in that moment, Aziraphale couldn't tell.

Crowley sighed in defeat and sat back down, in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was soft and his words clearly carefully chosen.

“I talked to Eric yesterday.”

“Eric?”

“Demon. Fun guy, cool lashes.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, not at all. It's not that. Apparently, I'm not that much in trouble anymore down there.”

“So,” Aziraphale tilted his head, perplexed “Are you reporting again? You didn't tell me.”

“I'm not. He came to me. He thought...He wanted to congratulate me, he said.”

“For...? My dear boy, I'm begging you to stop dancing around and just tell me. You are scaring me.”

Crowley grimaced, then took a sharp breath.

“Rumour has it they haven't seen an angel so close to Falling in centuries. They say it's thanks to me. My fault, I mean.”

His words dug slowly their way into Aziraphale's mind.

It took him a few seconds to fully understand what they meant.

Fear tightened its grip on his throat.

“Oh.” he managed to say.

“I'm sorry, Aziraphale.”

A low buzzing sound filled his ears, mixing up his thoughts and Crowley's voice.

He was going to Fall.

“I should have known. I didn't think it would get to this point, I didn't think-”

How much longer would it take?

“I know a demon's word isn't worth much, but I _swear_ I never wanted this, it was never my intention, I just-”

What was he supposed to do?

“I really shouldn't be here. I should speak to Beelzebub. Would it help? They might intercede or whatever, I don't know-”

Would it hurt?

“I should be banging on Heaven's door threatening to burn the whole place down if they even try to-”

How much would it change him?

“For Hell's sake, I should have never talked to you in the first place, it would have been better. Fraternizing with a demon, of course sooner or later that-”

“Crowley, will you stop making this about yourself, please?” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley froze for a moment. He frowned, incredulous.

“I-what- How is not wanting you to Fall 'making it about me'?” he hissed.

“I just mean...give me a moment, alright?”

His voice was quavering. He had forgotten how to breathe. Of course, angels don’t really need to breathe, but in that moment he had forgotten that too. For the second time that day Aziraphale wondered what were the muscles responsible for that automatic and yet apparently arduous act, and why he couldn’t seem to make his own work.

“You are talking as if you're responsible for this. Let me tell you, you might be an amazing tempter, but I believe in this case you are giving yourself too much credit.”

“Listen, I'm just saying-”

Aziraphale raised a finger, asking for silence. He closed his eyes, trying to quiet the noises in his head and disentangle the skein of conflicting thoughts, emotions and unanswerable questions that kept hitting him like ocean waves.

In the midst of that storm he suddenly found Crowley's hand softly pressing his arm. Gentle, patient, familiar. He used that touch to anchor himself to the ground, focusing on what he knew for certain was true and what he realized he needed to say in that moment, if things were actually going to change.

He was finally able to take a deep breath.

“I love you, Crowley. You know that, right?”

Crowley audibly gasped. He straightened his back as if an ice cube had just slid down his spine. Aziraphale wished he hadn’t put his sunglasses on, so that he could at least try to guess what he was feeling behind the blank expression that had appeared on his face.

“Of course, you’re an angel, that’s what you do.”

“It’s not just that. I just… I love you,” he reiterated, realizing that saying it out loud made it sound obvious. He should have said it ages before.

Crowley inhaled deeply and balled his hand into a fist, pressing his lips on his knuckles.

“Don’t. Why would- Don’t do this to me. We’re not having this conversation right now,” he said in a brittle voice.

Aziraphale bit his tongue, aware of having bigger problems at hand than the disappointment he felt rising in his chest.

“What I mean is that when you say that you shouldn’t be with me now or that it would have been better if we’d never met, well, you can’t say that lightly. It’s me we are talking about here. I suppose it’s up to me to decide what is or isn’t worth losing, am I right?”

“Mh,” agreed Crowley.

“And if indeed I Fall, it will be because of the decisions I’ve made. Can’t argue with free will, can you?” he took the half-empty bottle of wine from the basket and took a gulp. “Besides, it will still be better than when they tried to kill us, right?”

“Aziraphale, I don’t think you understand how serious the situation is.”

“Oh, believe me, I do. I’m just trying to stay positive. The show must go on.”

“Don’t quote Queen against me,” Crowley groaned, “Angel, we _must_ do something. I’m trying to help you. Falling? You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Then tell me about it,” he replied. A moment later he realized what he had said and brought a hand to his mouth “Oh no, I’m sorry. There really is no need. I’m sorry.”

The demon sighed. His Fall had been a sort of taboo between them for six thousand years but, given the circumstances, talking about it was inevitable. He snatched the bottle of wine from Aziraphale’s hand and swigged from it before talking.

“It’s hard to describe, to be honest. Let’s just say that it… It rewrites your entire existence. Everything you have been up to that point doesn’t matter anymore. You are an angel, you are light, you are love, you are joy… a moment later you are Falling. That’s all you are in that moment. Nothing else. Stuck in a limbo.”

He looked up at the London skyline. They had been there for hours, the sun was beginning to set, colouring the sky in pink and orange hues.

“It burns. Yes, physically, your wings are literally on fire,” he chuckled bitterly. “But it’s mostly something you feel deep within you. You can try and miracle it away, but it just keeps resurfacing. I guess that’s Grace leaving your soul. Or maybe whatever goodness is left in you by this time just rejects what you are becoming and tries to kill it while there’s still time.”

Crowley’s voice was so low and guttural Aziraphale could barely hear. He slowly moved closer, right to his side, bewitched by the trance-like state the other seemed to be in.

“The Fall feels like it lasts a century. Then, as you’re bracing for the impact thinking ‘here we are, let’s get this over’, just then you find out that not even the ground wants to touch such an unworthy being and so it opens under you and you just keep Falling, deeper and deeper. And just when you start to believe that’s what your existence is going to be like, that you will just keep Falling for the rest of Eternity, that’s when you finally crash. And that’s literally the worst Goddamn pain you can ever feel. It’s like the whole weight of Heaven and Earth was dropped on your chest.” He took off his glasses and slowly rubbed his eyes.

Aziraphale brushed his arm tentatively, expecting him to flinch. Instead, Crowley leaned his head on his shoulder.

“From that point it’s just Hell. Loneliness, disgust, fury. Hatred for what you were and hatred for what you’ve become. It takes centuries to learn to feel anything else again. If you ever do. I was one of the lucky few.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost contemplating different versions of Hell. Aziraphale almost believed to see a flaming trail crossing the London sky.

“You can’t Fall.” Crowley’s voice at that point wasn’t much more than a whisper “Not you. You’re too good. Nothing good ever came out of that.”

“You did,” Aziraphale stated, matter-of-factly. Crowley didn’t answer.

“I wish I had been there to help you. At the time. But I will be all right, Crowley. I’m certain of that.”

“I will catch you.”

Aziraphale felt a sincere smile forming on his lips. There it was, among terror, pain and grief: Crowley’s optimism. The idea that, if he wanted it hard enough, he could just catch a Fallen angel, simply pick him up and carry him out of Hell.

Aziraphale doubted that was possible. However, he took what little Faith was still left in his soul and put it in those words.

“I know you will”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I must admit, it will be interesting seeing how much Hell is going to affect you. It’s almost a shame. So soft and weak. I imagine it won’t take much to break you.”

Aziraphale couldn't sleep that night. Truth be told, he wasn't very keen on sleeping in general. He did enjoy taking naps after hearty meals, but they rarely lasted more than a handful of minutes. The night the world hadn't ended he had actually managed to sleep for a couple of hours before waking up excitedly yelling he had figured out what Agnes Nutter's last prophecy meant. His sleeping record was set in 1865, when he had lost consciousness for almost six hours, his mind clouded by French wine, opium fumes and words of decadence – but he didn't like talking about that.

That night, however, he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he'd wanted to, caught up in the turmoil of emotions the afternoon had brought.

When they had got back to the bookshop, Crowley had offered to stay with him – an offer he had phrased like “I’m too tired to drive to my apartment, can I crash on your couch?”, but that Aziraphale had understood was really a “Let me keep an eye on you”. He had refused, saying he needed some time alone.

Immersed in silence, with his mind free to wander and to conjure up images of flames and Falling angels, he started to regret his choice.

Unable to sleep, Aziraphale prayed instead. The human way: on his knees, with folded hands and eyes shut tight, whispering psalms and hymns someone else had written centuries before. The human way, he felt like his words were falling on deaf ears.

His sigh resounded in the silence of the empty bookshop and he was struck by an overwhelming sensation of loneliness. Stumbling on his feet he sprinted to the phone and picked up the receiver with shaky hands. He had already dialled half of Crowley’s number when something in his mind switched, and the fear that was quickly building up inside of him stepped into the light and showed itself for what it really was: resentment.

“No, this is not right,” he declared out loud, slamming the phone down. He started pacing the floor on restless feet.

“This is _Your_ fault! I shouldn’t feel alone right now, You are supposed to be by my side in times of need, aren’t You?” he slurred pointing a finger at the ceiling, almost expecting the wooden beams to dematerialise and God Herself to descend to Earth just to answer to his accusation. It didn’t happen, but the thought of it was enough to make Aziraphale tone down the anger in his voice. He started fidgeting with his hands, torn between the need of answers and the aversion to open disobedience that, despite everything, was still part of his nature.

“Am I already damned, then? Or am I just so insignificant I don’t even deserve to feel Your presence?” he asked.

“Just let me understand. Is this somehow part of Your ineffable plan? Am I _supposed_ to Fall? Or have I really strayed that far?”

The events of the previous twelve years had destroyed any faith Aziraphale had in Heaven and his fellow angels. Slowly, begrudgingly, he had faced the senselessness of their Manichaeism and their twisted moral code and had accepted that their system was broken. Nonetheless, he had always held on to the idea that everything since the beginning of time had been part of the Almighty’s plan. Crowley tempting Eve in the Garden, him giving Adam his sword, the Antichrist being raised by the wrong family, the averted Apocalypse, all part of an enormous game not even an angel’s intellect was able to understand.

Was this simply Her next move or had he got it all wrong?

“I mean, I know I have done…some bad things,” he admitted “I know that. I’m far from perfect. But am I really worse than all those who follow any order they’re given without wondering who could be hurt in the process? All those who wanted to completely destroy the Earth and wipe out the human race? Who tried to kill me and Crowley?”

Saying the demon’s name out loud raised another doubt in his mind.

“Is this about him?”

He immediately dismissed the idea shaking his head.

“You can’t tell me it’s about Crowley. You are the one who made me able to love. To love _him_. No, I refuse to believe that’s in any way wrong. But what is it, then? What have I done? Do You really want me to be punished or do You just don’t care if I am?”

He saw his own reflection in the big mirror leaning on the wall in the corner of the room. He looked very tired.

“Are You even there? It’s been so long,” he murmured, exhaustion echoing in his voice.

A shiver went down his spine at the thought of everything he had said up to that point being nothing more than a soliloquy, a stream of consciousness destined to remain unheard and unanswered.

“Am I asking too many questions?”

He stared at his image in the mirror. The face he had worn for thousands of years, usually lit by excitement, serenity and self-esteem, stared back at him with a mixture of doubt, pain and confusion. Behind it he could glimpse at his true form, the one he hadn’t fully embraced in millennia and had almost forgotten. An Angel in the truest sense of the word, who fully belonged to Heaven, was sure of what his purpose was and barely had a conscience of his own. For a moment his face morphed into an unfamiliar expression, blank stare, upper lip raised and nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Of course I am,” he spat out, “Angels aren’t supposed to ask questions, right?”

“Come with me.”

Aziraphale turned around stumbling on his own feet. The menacing glare of the angel behind him was enough for him to immediately put on the polite smile he was so used to showcasing with his former bosses.

“Michael,” he said, trying to suppress the terror in his voice with a cheerful intonation. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

The Archangel raised his right arm to show he was holding a scale. The plates, apparently empty, were tilted to the left, defying Earth’s laws of physics.

“You will follow me without resistance or you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”

Aziraphale’s fake smile faltered. He was sure he had already seen that same expression in the Archangel’s eyes once, long before the beginning of Time, when he had faced and defeated what was once God’s most faithful servant.

“Already?” he asked, the reality of the situation slowly dawning on him.

“You were created with a great deal of divinity inside of you, principality. You have squandered it.”

“All right, then.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Let us have done with it.”

***

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel’s smile was as broad, as bright and as condescending as usual. Behind him, dozens of angels were lined up facing Aziraphale, making it clear that if he had tried to do anything stupid he wouldn’t have had any chances of succeeding.

“Is it actually you in there? If I’m not mistaken last time we saw you you were possessed by a demon.”

Aziraphale replied with a smile just as fake. “Last time you saw me you tried to kill me, if I am not mistaken either.”

Standing beside him Michael gave him a push, in a silent threat.

“I’m sure you understand we were in an emergency situation,” Gabriel explained as if his and Crowley’s extinction was just business as usual. “We had been in an arms race for six thousand years and were suddenly placed in disarmament. Order had to be re-established as quickly as possible.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale could taste his scorn for the Archangel on his tongue.

“Did you really think we wouldn't understand your trick? Besides, considering the current situation, I believe you wish we had carried out the execution, don’t you?”

Gabriel’s smile widened even more, but the malicious twinkle in his purple eyes made Aziraphale turn pale.

“It’s been ages since the last Fall,” he continued. “It’s a bit of an inconvenience of course, losing one of ours to the other side. But we do what we must.” The confident façade Aziraphale was already struggling to maintain began to crumble under Gabriel’s mellifluous voice. “I must admit, it will be interesting seeing how much Hell is going to affect you. It’s almost a shame. So soft and weak. I imagine it won’t take much to break you.”

“You are cruel. Why are you even doing this?” he asked, unable to dissimulate the shakiness in his voice. Gabriel shrugged.

“We cannot keep a demon in our ranks.”

“But I am not a demon!”

Just like the previous afternoon, Aziraphale found himself dizzy and short of breath, his mind clouded by quickly approaching panic. Was he becoming a demon? How bad would it be? Crowley was a demon. Was it a good thing, then? On Gabriel’s lips the simple word sounded like the worst of insults.

“I’m an angel…” he murmured. He realized that word said out loud sounded just as degrading.

“Are you?” Gabriel scoffed “I believe Michael’s psychostasia said the opposite.”

Aziraphale thought about how unbalanced the scale the Archangel had showed him in the bookshop was, and whatever hope he had of being absolved by the jury of angels in front of him vanished in thin air.

“This makes no sense,” he muttered. “I’m a good person.”

“That’s the point, Aziraphale, you are _not_ a person. We are supposed to be better,” Gabriel replied, patronizing. “Let’s see. That old shop of yours. All the things you hoard in it. Not only it’s frankly disturbing, it’s _Greed_. That’s a sin, you do realize that.”

The jury angels all nodded in agreement.

“What about Sloth? Have you ever really put any effort in the work the Almighty assigned to you? How often have you actually, actively performed Good?”

In response Aziraphale just shook his head, unable to form a sentence.

“Gluttony. That’s a big one for you, isn’t it?” Gabriel resumed “All that disgusting organic stuff you are ceaselessly ingesting…”

“It’s just food. It tastes nice,” he managed to say.

“You don’t need it! It’s just a human thing. You see, that’s a big part of your problem.” The Archangel wagged his finger at Aziraphale, who recoiled. “You are too invested in humans and their oddities. You have always been obsessed with them. I would dare to say that you wish you were just like them. Which brings me to Envy.”

“Stop it, Gabriel, please. All of this is ridiculous.” Aziraphale could feel tears springing up behind his eyes, while the Archangel’s accusations dug grooves in everything he thought he knew and everything he thought he had learnt in thousands of years. Was Gabriel right?

“Now, Lust. We obviously heard your little ‘I love you Crowley’ rant last afternoon, so…”

Aziraphale felt his whole body freeze in an instant.

“You heard?”

“Of course, what did you expect? We’ve been observing you these last few days. We needed to know if you were actually, irredeemably corrupted. And as you can see…”

“But that’s not Lust!” Aziraphale was able to collect enough air in his lungs to stop muttering and begin to yell instead. “It has nothing to do with it, Love is a good thing! It’s _the_ good thing!”

Michael’s grip on his arm tightened.

“Oh. Is this Wrath?”

“Wra- this is common sense! Love is not Lust! Why would Love be wrong?”

“Aziraphale...” Gabriel’s voice wasn’t far from the voice an old woman would use when speaking to a toddler “We’re talking about a demon.”

An outraged muttering rose from the jury.

“You will not convince me that Love is a capital Sin, Gabriel. What do you even know about it?”

“Mind how you speak, Aziraphale. We are angels. Love is our essence.” The Archangel took step towards him, dropping his over-polite demeanour. His voice was still calm and controlled but it had dropped an octave and sounded more menacing to Aziraphale’s ear. “You are basically a demon by now, the farthest thing from Love there is. You will no longer sense Love. You will no longer receive it in any way. You will no longer feel it.”

To everybody’s surprise, including his own, Aziraphale broke into a harsh laugh. For a moment he thought he could hear an echo of Crowley’s voice in his own.

“I must say I pity you, Gabriel. You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You think?”

“I know. You're not making any sense.”

“Sure. Pride, that’s another big one for you, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. All the terror and self-doubt he had felt until a few minutes before had reached their peak to the point all he could actually feel was weariness.

“This is absurd. You are just making up excuses to toss me out because, for whatever reason, you have always hated me.”

“We’re angels, we do not hate.”  
“Well, then I see why I’m not an angel anymore.” He was getting nauseated and just wanted that pointless inquisition to be over. All the questions he had been asking himself for hours, what was really right and wrong, how much he would change, what he would or wouldn’t still be able to feel, all of that didn’t matter anymore.

“Once I Fall, will you leave me alone?” he asked with a deadpan expression.

Gabriel scoffed “The farther we will be the better I will feel.”

“All right, then.” With a yank Aziraphale freed his arm from Michael’s grip, who left his side to reach Gabriel’s. He tried to pull himself together the best he could, fixing his linen shirt and taking deep breaths to choke back his tears one last time. He managed to put on what was the shadow of his old, phoney smile and found relief in the thought that he wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You know, I wish you were able to understand how wrong you are. I will pray for you, Gabriel.”

The Archangel wrinkled his nose “Prayers from a demon? Yeah. Please, don’t do that.” He turned to face the other angels.

“Shall we?” he asked. The jury nodded in agreement.

Immediately Aziraphale could feel a surge of energy whirl all around them, tingling on his fingertips and making his hair stand. The dazzling light of Heaven began to quickly fade, leaving as the only light source the bright halos of the angels, suddenly visible.

The ground under his feet started to shake but he was the only one who had to struggle to keep his balance: the others were standing perfectly still, staring at him with their eyes glowing so brightly he was almost blinded.

Gabriel’s three sets of wings cut through the planes of reality and appeared fully spread, their umber feathers ruffled by a non-existing wind. When he turned again and spoke, his voice came straight from a Time so remote that the meaning of the words he pronounced had been forgotten by every other angel.

Dazed, Aziraphale stepped back. When his foot landed in the void, he had just the time to take one last look of the angels that were pushing him to his damnation.

Then he was Falling.

***

He hurled through the air at unbearable speed, his arms and legs appearing and disappearing from his view as they pointlessly spun around as if with a conscience of their own. Instinctively he opened his wings to break the Fall, but to no avail.

He kept his eyes fixed on Heaven, above him, farther and farther away, blurred by the tears that he had finally allowed to fill his eyes.

When his white feathers caught fire he tried to scream, but the wind pushing on his chest was too strong and his voice died before reaching his throat.

The excruciating pain within him matched the one on his skin, numbing both his senses and his mind.

He stopped struggling.

It is said that when a man dies he can see all his life flash before his eyes, as if Death operated by pressing the rewind button on an old VHS recorder.

Aziraphale wasn’t a man and he wasn’t actually dying; nevertheless, during his apparently endless Fall a huge amount of images and sounds flooded his mind, mixing up and chasing one another, presenting him the evidence of all the Sins he had been accused of. Books, tea, Crowley’s eyes, warm wool sweaters, sponge cake, Crowley’s laughter, vinyl records, Crowley’s wit, choosing to help, Crowley’s light-heartedness, choosing to disobey, Crowley’s hands, drinking with Crowley, magic tricks, Crowley’s thoughtfulness, sharing lunches with Crowley, listening to Crowley’s rants, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, Crowley’s kindness, Crowley.

Crowley was a constant in so many of these thoughts that when a pair of black wings wrapped around Aziraphale’s body he thought for a moment he was only imagining them. Then he thought that he had pictured him so intensely he had accidentally summoned him. Then he thought that of course Crowley was there, ha had promised he would catch him.

Then they crashed.

***

Crowley’s shoulder hit the ground first. He heard the snapping sound of bones breaking, but he immediately willed them back in their place before his body could register the pain.

He held Aziraphale tighter as they tumbled in dirt and dust in a remote, godforsaken corner of Hell.

When they finally came to a stop, all of Crowley’s muscles went limp and he collapsed on his back, trying to steady his breath. Above him, the ground that had recoiled at their passage was closing again, blocking any view of Heaven and the sky, just like it had done thousands and thousands of years before.

It took him a couple of minutes to come to his senses and realize Aziraphale was clenching his shirt, eyes shut tight and face buried in his chest, still bracing for impact.

“Hey,” he said, slowly sitting up. “It’s over. You’re all right. It’s over.” Carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, he touched Aziraphale’s cheek with the point of his fingers.

When he turned to look at him, startled, Crowley’s stomach dropped.

Beneath Aziraphale’s pale skin soiled by grime and soot, bright red streaks ran through his right arm, starting on his fingertips, climbing his shoulder and his neck and reaching his lobe, branching out like hundreds of tiny capillaries. Still, what struck Crowley the most were Aziraphale’s eyes. In particular his pupils, them too bright red as if in a photo shot in darkness with a bright flash.

A moment later Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s waist and hid his face in the crook of his neck. His shrill scream pierced through Crowley’s head and through his heart. Crowley felt the urge to squeeze him with all the strength he could muster but, knowing the pain he was in at the moment, he just carefully wrapped his arms around his shoulders and gently caressed the back of his head. He gathered all the energy he could from the Hell that surrounded them and focused it on Aziraphale, hoping it would soothe an ounce of his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, feeling Aziraphale shake in his arms and his tears wet his collarbone “I couldn’t stop it. I tried. I didn’t know how.”

He cradled him for what felt like forever, whispering apologies, curses and words of comfort.

Every time he laid eyes on Aziraphale's wings, broken, bleeding and smouldering, a sharp pain in his chest brought to his mind the idea he was trying to ignore at all costs: the Aziraphale he had known for six thousand years was gone. Crowley knew too well what Falling felt like, he remembered how deeply and abruptly it had changed him, and the thought that the same thing had happened to his Angel filled him with anger.

Like thousands of years before he felt a surge of loathing towards Heaven and all those who had just decided to ruin the Universe wasting what he knew was the best thing of all Creation. Fury grew in him but he strived to keep still and just clenched his teeth, pressing his lips to the top of Aziraphale’s head, keeping him as close as possible while he could, afraid that the moment he would let him go everything he was dreading would become real.

“They will regret doing this to you,” he hissed “We’re gonna make them pay for this.”

“There is no need.” Aziraphale’s voice was so quiet Crowley barely heard him despite their proximity. Something in it, however, instilled a drop of hope in the middle of his anger and despair.

“What did you say?” he asked, pulling Aziraphale away from his chest just enough to look at his face. The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth were curled into a little smile. Crowley looked at him in shock, unable to fully process what he was seeing.

“There is no need,” Aziraphale repeated. “I don’t care. They will leave us alone. I’m all right.”

Crowley gaped at him and cupped his face with shaky hands. Aziraphale’s blue eyes were puffy from crying and the unnaturally red pupils were impossible to ignore, yet they were just as bright, soft and kind as they were the day before.

“It’s you,” Crowley croaked, squeezing Aziraphale’s cheeks in excitement “It’s still you. Actually you. How is it still you?”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale laughed softly, pulling Crowley’s hands away from his face.

“I don’t understand, it can’t be you… You were an angel, you’re not an angel anymore, you’re a demon. Are you a demon? You’re not a demon. Why are you not a demon? Are you still an angel? You should be a demon.”

“Crowley, please.”

“Yes. Slowing down, yes. Just…It’s you,” he sputtered, nearly shaking in exhilaration.

“My dear…” Aziraphale wiped tears off his face with the ripped sleeve of his shirt, then he squeezed Crowley’s hands. “I’ve fallen for you in every way was possible,” he said with a hoarse and weak voice. “If there is something I’ve learnt it’s that Grace is overrated. Words like Heaven, Hell, Angel or Demon… They really don’t mean anything. Angels can be cruel, wicked and vengeful. Demons can be loved. I don’t care what Heaven decides to call me, I don’t belong there just like I don’t belong in Hell.”

“But,” Crowley said. “It makes no sense. You were an angel and you Fell. Doesn’t that mean that now you are... Just like me?” His lips twitched: after being a demon for millennia putting Aziraphale at his own level felt like the worst blasphemy he had ever spoken.

“Crowley, can’t you see? I have always been.”

Crowley realized he was crying only when Aziraphale caressed his cheek, rubbing a tear away with his thumb. Then he delicately pulled him down towards him and softly kissed his forehead.

It wasn’t a blessing, it couldn’t be, not anymore, yet it felt like one. All of Crowley’s worries and doubts instantly dissolved in the knowledge that Aziraphale would never change, and he breathed a sigh of relief he felt he had been holding for six thousand years.

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “I believe it’s time we go back to Earth, what do you say?”

Crowley nodded with a smile. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“Come on then.” He got to his feet and offered him a hand. “Let’s go home, Angel.”

That would never change either.

***

The sun had already started to set when Aziraphale put on the kettle in the little kitchen in the back of his bookshop. For the first time in millennia of existence he had slept for over twelve hours, slumped on the couch in a position that would have been deleterious to any human being’s back. Admittedly, Aziraphale’s whole body was sore, but he suspected that was mostly due to Falling from Heaven rather than uncomfortable cushions.

A pang of burning pain between his shoulder blades made him wince and almost spill his cup of boiling tea. He moved his head from side to side in hope of releasing some tension.

“It hurts?”

Crowley appeared from behind a bookshelf as if summoned.

“Just a bit,” he answered.

A moment later Crowley had slithered behind him and placed a hand on his back. Aziraphale immediately felt the pain miraculously ease, and he sighed in relief.

“Thank you.” Gratitude warming his chest, he flashed a smile at Crowley, who replied with a dismissive wave and leaned against the counter beside him.

“I threw away your flask of holy water,” he said causally, pretending not to see the reproving look his words earned him. “You know, the emergency supply you had in the cabinet upstairs.”

“Crowley, are you out of your mind?” Aziraphale hissed. “What if the lid was unscrewed for whatever reason? What if you dropped it? You could have at least waited for me to wake up.”

Crowley groaned. “Relax, I was careful. Do you have other?”

“Obviously not, I would have told you.” he replied, piqued.

“Angel, you have to stay away from that stuff too, from now on. You know that, right?”

The honest concern in Crowley’s voice softened Aziraphale, who sighed.

“Yes, of course.”

The mirror in the corner made it clear that even though Falling hadn’t had the impact he dreaded on his mind and his heart, it still had changed some things.

He stared in silence at his unfamiliar reflection for a few minutes, sipping from his cup. He followed the red lines on his neck with a finger, frowning.

Crowley bumped his shoulder with his own. “Don’t rack your brains. You’ll get used to it.”

Aziraphale nodded with a slight smile. “I guess I will start wearing turtlenecks.”

“Why not? Might suit you.”

“I’m not gonna lie, the red pupils are a bit creepy. Will I have to wear sunglasses?” He scrunched up his nose “They’re not really my thing.”

“There’s no need. Humans hardly ever notice,” Crowley scuffed. “You look fine anyway. I mean, your eyes. They’re nice. I mean. Red pupils, kinda cool. Yeah.” He coughed.

“For crying out loud, wear whatever you want, that’s my point.”

Aziraphale finished his tea. He put the cup down on the counter and took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Crowley. For everything. Really, I owe you so much.”

“Shut up.” Crowley crossed his arms and turned away, but Aziraphale was still able to catch his pleased smile.

They stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the comfort of each other’s company.

Crowley was the one who broke the silence clearing his throat.

“Angel,” he said tentatively, gazing at the floor “That thing you said yesterday…”

Aziraphale tilted his head towards him. “I’ve said a lot of things yesterday. It was a pretty eventful day.”

“You know, about… me. Well, you. And me. What you said. About what you felt.”

“The fact that I love you?”

Crowley cleared his throat again. “That’s the thing.”

“What about it?” Aziraphale asked, feeling his chest tightening slightly.

Crowley kept his head down but glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Did you mean it?”

Aziraphale looked at him with a fond smile.

“With all my soul.”

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded.

“Is it still true?”

“Why?” Aziraphale asked “Can’t Fallen angels love?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Aziraphale stepped away from the counter and placed himself in front of Crowley, leaning in to catch his eyes.

“It would make sense, though, Gabriel told me so. Could a demon ever love?”

He batted his lashes with a naïve expression. Crowley leaned back and kept shifting his gaze from the floor to the wall to the ceiling, unable to suppress a grin.

“You bastard,” he said. “Stop it, I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” Aziraphale teased, “You’re the expert here, I’m only asking questions.”

“You’re a natural at this, aren’t you?” Crowley laughed. He placed his hands on Aziaphale’s shoulders and gently pushed him away.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “Yes, I know first-hand that a demon can love. A whole lot, as a matter of fact.”

“First-hand, you say?” Aziraphale beamed, scrunching his nose.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Come on, you’ve always known,” he muttered.

“I might have suspected it, yes,” Aziraphale said. He caressed Crowley's cheek, feeling warmth spread under his touch.

“Good Lord, are you crying now, my dear?”

“I’m not,” Crowley lied, burying his face in his neck.

“There, there, it’s all right.” He wrapped his arms around him with a laugh.

The burning pain in his back where his wings would be still hadn’t worn out and seeing his own reflection in the mirror still felt somehow wrong.

Yet, in that moment, Aziraphale felt the closest to Heaven he had felt in thousands of years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Heaven is a place on Earth playing in the distance*  
> That's all folks! Come say hi on Tumblr @undertheinktree !

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a mess but I wanted to upload it anyway, I hope someboday enjoys it!  
> Come say hi on Tumblr @undertheinktree!


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